


The Benefits of Thoughtful Catering

by Urist



Series: Medieval Management AU [4]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora is overplanning, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Catra is overreacting, Cuddling, F/F, Fluff, Huntara is undercompensated, Kyle gets disrespected, Light Hurt/Comfort, POV Outsider, for justified reasons, he’s bad at things, partially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29648175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urist/pseuds/Urist
Summary: Catra goes away on a trip. Adora discovers not all problems can be solved with More Sword. Huntara takes up event planning.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: Medieval Management AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064114
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	The Benefits of Thoughtful Catering

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to [ForsythiaRising](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForsythiaRising) for beta-ing!

Huntara might actually be looking forward to this interview. Probably because Queen Catra’s supplied her with an exorbitant travel stipend, coming directly from the royal account.

If she’s honest, though, it’s less the travel stipend that’s causing her interest, and more the way it was delivered: She received a letter from Queen Catra of the Fright Zone, stating that Scorpia had mentioned a possible new head guard, and would Huntara come visit at her earliest convenience using the attached travel stipend, please-and-thank-you. Direct, to the point, and sparing no reasonable expense – everything Huntara could want in an employer.

So, Huntara made a trip to the Fright Zone. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting – possibly a number of questions, maybe a formal panel or two, possibly some falderal about uniforms or outfits – but she certainly was not expecting to be brought right into the throne room.

Her first in-person impression of the Queen is… queens, princesses, royals, Huntara has met a bunch. They all had a general sense of _nobility_ about them. The slender magicat sitting crosswise on the throne in a comfortable jerkin and trousers - she doesn’t exude nobility as much as consume it, with a side of formality.

“So, you’re the lilac warrior Scorpia’s been going on and on about?” Her voice is a low scrape, tones ground down with the hint of a growl behind them.

“I’m Huntara. What’s it to you?”

“I… You were introduced. Literally thirty seconds ago. I know your name is Huntara.” The growl is growing stronger.

“So why did you ask?”

“Because – look, do you want the head guard position or not?” She’s outright snarling now.

“I might. Why, do you need a new one?”

“I need my wife to get out more. Or possibly less. Or maybe just differently.”

“I…” Huntara pauses, then raises an eyebrow. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Kyle!”

Huntara turns to see a skinny young man, slightly floundering in a guard uniform, hurriedly attempt to snap to attention. The effect is somewhat ruined, at least in her eyes, by his total lack of competent or threatening air.

“Yes, My Que – Your Highness – Ma’am.”

“It's just Queen Catra. We’ve talked about this." Catra sighs. "Go get Adora. Tell her… oh, just get her.”

The shrimp – Kyle – emits a panicked affirmation before scuttling out of the room. Huntara looks back to Catra, raises an eyebrow.

Catra catches her tacit question. “Look, Adora felt bad, decided he and his crew could use a job – most of them are pretty good, Kyle’s… skittish. On account of the staple, perhaps, or maybe he was always that way. I couldn’t tell you.”

“And this Adora is…”

“The current, hopefully soon to be former, head of the guard. And my wife. And the reigning champion of my most recent tournament, which is really what started all of this.”

“You…" Huntara pauses for a moment. "You don’t want your wife to run the guards because she’s too good at winning fights?”

“No, because she’s too eager to lose them.”

Huntara frowns in confusion. “Look, Queen Catra – ”

“Been here two minutes and you get it,” Catra mutters, “but Kyle’s had months and still can’t – ”

“– I don’t really understand what’s going on with your wife – “

“ – you are not alone – “

“ – but I’m not sure why you’re bringing me in, or how I can help.”

A voice from behind her asks, “How you can help what?”

Huntara spins around to see a statuesque – at least for a human, even if she’s still a head shorter than Huntara – blonde, hurriedly balling up a messy apron to reveal a simple tunic and pants beneath. She’s young, to Huntara’s eyes, but her movements indicate a weight of muscle and a wealth of training. Huntara could probably take her, though.

The human crosses the threshold, sweeps her gaze over the throne. Subtle lines of stress drain out of her body when she sees the occupant, and both Blondie and the Queen’s faces soften into brief fond smiles. Royal inspection complete, she turns and looks Huntara up and down.

“And who, exactly, are you?” The blonde asks in a wary tone.

“I’m Huntara. And you?”

“Adora.”

“Ah, the wife.”

“And,” Catra adds, “potential sparring partner. Pending demonstration and approval.”

Huntara turns back towards the throne, but leaves a hand gestured towards Blondie. “You want me to… fight her? Now?” Huntara asks. Blondie looks slightly nonplussed.

“No, Huntara,” Catra says exasperatedly, “I brought you all the way from the Crimson Waste because Kyle needs training. Yes, I want you to fight her!”

“Are you…“ Huntara pauses – both wives appear to be ignoring her in favor of engaging in particularly intense non-verbal communication that she struggles to intercept. Blondie makes doe eyes, Catra rolls hers, Blondie follows up with pursed lips, Catra counters with a perplexed huff, but concedes via raised hand. Huntara, sensing the conversation finished, resumes talking. “ - are you paying me for this, or for guarding?”

Catra looks away from her wife, who is joyfully heading towards a wall to Huntara’s right (is Blondie actually _bouncing?_ ), and towards Huntara. “Well, right now, I’m not paying you for anything. Beyond the stipend for just coming out here, at least. But, if she likes you, I’ll pay you decent wages for both. And if you beat her, well, you tell me what your time is worth - ”

“- stop betting against me, Catra, we’ve talked about this – “

“- and we’ll go from there.” Her blue and gold eyes shift from Huntara back to Blondie. “Besides, Adora, this one might _actually_ be worth it.”

“Sure, sure. Hey, Huntara!”

Huntara looks, sees Blondie finish setting up a large mat across the room, then heading back to a rolling cart of weapons – _where had they stored those_ –

“What weapon do you prefer? Swords, daggers – “

“Staffs. I’ve got one here.” She pulls it out, clicks it to length.

“I’ll grab the same.”

“Use whatever you want," Huntara says. "You don’t get to pick the opposing weapon in an actual fight.”

“Oh, great, now you’ve done it,” Catra drawls, “get ready to hear all about the majesty and power of a sword, how nothing can ever – “

“Catra, they are objectively the best weapons!”

“ – yeah, whatever. Anyway, basic sparring rules, Huntara. You familiar with them?”

“I… I think so? At least the rules we used in the Crimson Waste – no beheading, only non-lethal poisons, clean up your own blood – “

There’s a clatter to Huntara’s right that sounds suspiciously like a blunt training sword impacting the marble floor of a throne room. She’d like to confirm her guess, but her attention is drawn back towards the throne by a raspy laugh.

“Hey, Adora? I think – I think I’ve found one worth our time,” Catra says, before folding wholly over into a full-body giggle.

Huntara glances back to Blondie, who is – look, Huntara’s not unaware that she’s attractive. Blondie isn’t her type – not nearly jacked or tall enough – but she’s seen that face before and she knows the emotion behind it. 

“I take it these are not the sparring rules here,” she says.

Catra chokes back her giggle long enough to say, “Adora, you wanna – “

“They are not, but they could – ” Blondie cuts herself off when Catra shoots her a sharp glance, then says, “ – maybe later.”

“ _Thank_ you. We’ve barely gotten the blood out from your last jaunty little battle in here.”

“Instead, let’s do…” Blondie pauses and swishes the sword thoughtfully, then asks, “First to tap out, or when Catra declares a winner?”

Huntara’s familiar with tapping out – children use it in the Crimson Waste. She tries not to be insulted.

“I suppose, Blondie – ” She glances at Catra, who has shot past a giggle into a high-pitched _wheee_ noise, and appears to be clutching the arm of the throne for balance – “we can stick with those for now. Just try not to tap out too soon.”

Catra’s laughter drops long enough for her to choke out, “Yeah, don’t tap out too quickly, _Blondie_.”

Blondie circles around towards the mat, beckoning with her sword. Her initial look of infatuation appears to have faded slightly, and is now overlaid by a face considerably more familiar with violence. “Not going to happen, Catra. Huntara. Let’s spar. Now.”

Huntara squares up across from her and raises her staff into a standard block. Blondie assumes a two-handed grip on her sword, shifts her feet, and tosses a head twitch to Catra.

“Ready… _fight._ ”

Huntara flows from her block into a lunge, preparing to – _what the fuck,_ Adora moves faster than anyone should with that heavy sword – her lunge passes through empty air instead. Huntara whirls, just barely catching Adora’s vicious swing on the center of her staff. The shock passes up her arms and drives a feral grin onto Huntara’s face.

Huntara has a moment where she locks eyes with Adora, sees a light flare deep inside her blue-grey eyes, just before Adora throws all her weight into her sword. Huntara’s driven backward, boots skidding on the mat, but she crouches down, drops a hand off her staff – the sword slides down it – and throws a hook at Adora’s face.

Her fist connects cleanly, and the weight of Adora’s sword is lifted as she staggers back. Huntara shifts her stance, seeking to follow up, but her view is suddenly filled with shrieking human – Adora has leapt improbably high, bringing the sword down in a powerful two-handed strike even as blood streams from her nose. It’s all Huntara can do to hurriedly bring the staff up in time – the weight of the strike still bears down on her, though, and the flat of the sword slams into a shoulder. Huntara bounces into a backflip, swinging the staff to stabilize herself –

“Enough.”

Huntara and Adora both turn to Catra. She’s leaning forward on the throne, legs wide with elbows on her knees, a particularly intense look on her face.

“But I was about to – “ Adora begins.

“Huntara, you’re hired. Come back to me tomorrow with a number, we’ll discuss it. Adora, you’re already bleeding, so I’m ending this while I can still patch you up enough to keep you from staining the sheets.”

Huntara looks at Adora. Her opponent is glaring at her wife, but with an underlying softness that Huntara can’t exactly parse. Huntara clears her throat: “Where should I report to, Queen Catra?”

“Call me Catra, at least in private. Ask one of the guards. Say I told you to clear out the head guard’s quarters, you’re welcome to stay there.”

Adora looks away from Catra, and towards her. “I would have won that, and we both know it.”

“Are you serious, Blondie?” Huntara responds. “You got punched in the face before your second strike.”

“I can get punched in the face all day.”

“Can you?” Catra adds, then after a pause, “Well, yes, you can, but _why_.”

“There’s an easy way to settle this.”

“What, you want to – “

“I said _enough_. Adora, you can play with Huntara again tomorrow. Right now, you’re going to play with me.” Catra stalks off the throne, and slings an arm around Adora’s waist. Adora takes a moment to stick out her tongue at Huntara, but then drops the sword to toss an arm around Catra. As Huntara watches them leave, Adora’s arm slides down to rest on her wife’s ass, even as Catra’s tail seems to pull Adora in closer.

Huntara is left alone in the throne room with a slightly bloody mat, a dented practice sword, and a shoulder that has begun to steadily twinge. By tomorrow, she knows she’ll have a bruise there – and it promises to be the first of many. The princess seems to have a crush on her, and the queen’s hired her to fight her own wife.

Nothing she can’t deal with.

* * *

Huntara might be out of her depth here.

She thought she could handle Catra going out on a trip. She’s had a great first month – Catra respects her and the feeling is mutual, Kyle only injures himself once a week now, she’s stopped getting lost. Catra leaving should not cause a problem.

But the Queen’s only been away for four days, and things have already gone to shit.

Not because of some invaders - Huntara’s trained her guards well (or, in the case of Kyle, as well as she could given the material she had to work with), so she’s not worried about external threats.

No, Catra needs to come back because of an internal attack.

Maybe attack isn’t the right term. Huntara doesn’t think Adora’s _intending_ to threaten the keep.

But then again, intention doesn’t matter, past a certain line, and Adora’s absolutely crossing lines.

“I _said_ , how can you call them trained, Huntara? I just wiped the floor against three of them!”

She ignores the slight on her training methods (and the fact that before she was hired, Adora could have won against _half a dozen_ of her own guards), because she understands what Adora is doing.

“And look at this! How can you expect them to guard Catra’s keep when their practice dummies keep falling apart?!”

Huntara knows she should be into someone who can cleave a wooden practice dummy in twain with a blunted practice sword, and yet Blondie persistently remains not her type. Before she was hired, Huntara’s exclusions were due to musculature and height, but her occasional blithe appreciation of both Catra’s and Adora’s relatively short and slender forms has shown the lie there. (Not that she would ever act on those casual desires, of course. She’s adventurous, not suicidal.)

Fortunately, after weeks of working under possibly the strangest couple in Etheria, Huntara’s diversified her reasons for rejection, and so Adora’s feats of strength still don’t inspire her to cozy up beside Blondie. Probably because she knows _why_ they’re happening, and has no desire to get in the middle of all _that_.

“Huntara! Are you even listening to me? Or do I have to beat what I’m saying into your head?”

The problem, Huntara reflects while dodging the wild swings and slashes of a sparring session she was not informed of, is that Adora is far too spirited to really get into a good mope. If she channeled her pining into, say, petulantly languishing in bed, or lugubriously trudging through the halls, or even outright weeping while morosely attempting to cook, Huntara would be slightly bored, but mostly just _fine._

Instead, she’s forced to cope with the more vigorous member of the royal couple expressing her repressed longing for her spouse (and the energetic outlet said spouse loudly, frequently, and gleefully provides) through notably violent means – most of which, Huntara cannot help but notice, are directed at _her_.

She considers, not for the first time, that she might be underpaid.

Somewhere around Adora shattering the third dummy, Huntara decides she has to calm her down. She doesn’t like _not_ fighting, especially given that Adora is a genuine joy to spar with, but she also does not want Catra to return to a furiously unstable wife surrounded by bruised subjects, splintered training dummies, and one deeply displeased head guard. She resolves to find some slightly less berserk form of stimulation that will hopefully give Adora a little bit more direction.

She settles on a children’s game she enjoyed back in the Crimson Waste. Capture the flag is simple and easy, so even a sleep-deprived Adora should be able to pick it up. Huntara just needs to convince her to do it.

Huntara proposes it to her at the end of lunch, hoping the meal will make her more agreeable. “I know the rules are a bit complicated, and I know it might be a little unorthodox, but I – “

“No. I want to do it.”

“You’re sure?” Huntara asks. That was significantly less struggle than she’d planned for.

“What, you think I can’t?”

Huntara was not aiming for a conversation with spiteful Adora today, but she’ll make it work. In a mocking tone, she asks, “I don’t know, Princess. Can you?”

Adora goes bright red and shouts, “I could beat you – you – My flag will be in my room! Put yours wherever you want.”

“Okay. And teams?”

“Take whoever you want from the guard,” Adora says, “as long as it includes Kyle. I can’t stand him right now.”

It takes an evening for Huntara to set up, and a sizeable purchase from the butcher as an incentive for the guards, but she wakes the next morning ready to start.

Adora’s already up, of course, pacing back and forth in the central courtyard.

“Finally!”

“We said the morning.” Huntara yawns. “It’s dawn.”

“No excuse to sleep in.”

“Sure.”

“First to three, Huntara, the earlier we start the better.”

They had previously agreed to start on a handshake, so nothing would happen until they were both present anyways, but Huntara’s so far past fighting with Adora on this issue. Instead, she reaches out her hand welcomingly. Adora takes it, shakes it once, and then promptly throws Huntara over her shoulder and into the ground before sprinting off.

Huntara rises, spits out a bit of blood in the direction of Adora’s dust cloud. “Fuck you too, Blondie!”

* * *

She thought her keep was _taken._ Catra smelled smoke from miles away, so she left her escorts behind and furtively infiltrated to confirm her suspicions without being captured. (The indignity of having to sneak into her own home is not lost on her. When all of this is over, she will have _words._ ) The roaring bonfire in the central courtyard, the sight of fighting on the parapets, and the audible clashes of sword on steel didn’t exactly disabuse her of her invasive conclusions. But now, now that she’s looking down from the tallest tower in the keep and her blood has begun to cool, she’s starting to think her haste might have been misplaced.

Because the fire appears to be built under a roasting pig. The fighting leaves behind no bodies or blood. And the clashes of sword on steel are oddly muted, causing inky traces instead of wounds. In fact… it almost seems like a party. She can pick out numerous guards, all with ink scattered across them, all lounging around the fire pit and idly turning the roast.

Catra’s well aware nothing like this was scheduled. She’s been away from the Fright Zone for just under a week thanks to a diplomatic trip, though, so she’s not outright denying the possibility of this being intentional, carefully planned to avoid her notice. She mentally adds another set of words to the dressing-down she’s going to deliver to whoever set it up – and one more if it turns out her unscheduled early return was the only reason she found out about it. (Plus a final rant if they finish that pig before she can get some – she’s skipped dinner in her hurry.)

It doesn’t seem like any of her indolent subjects have spotted their queen, so she stays for a while to observe. After a few minutes, a trio of dispirited and dyed figures – she recognizes them as Adora’s former bandits-cum-questionably rehabilitated guards – ambles out of the base of her tower, loudly complaining.

“I mean it’s just _not possible_.”

“Well, she did it, Kyle, so obviously it’s possible for someone.”

“I don’t understand how, though,” Kyle whines. “We went in through every door. Rogelio even came in through a window.”

“Yeah, I thought it would have worked too. But it’s still there, so she obviously _still beat us_.”

There’s a low mournful grunt from the last member of the trio.

“I don’t want to explain it to Huntara either! Kyle, you’re going to.”

Catra ignores Kyle’s dispirited squawk, consumed by the revelation that _Huntara_ is in on this nonsense. Great.

She actually does quite like Huntara. Sure, she’s expensive, but Catra has to respect her for making such an art form out of living her life exactly how she wants. (Most days, Catra’s just glad that what Huntara wants apparently includes a job in the Fright Zone.)

But – Huntara and Adora are a pair in some concerningly competitive ways. Adora’s not – she would never be unfaithful, of course, and yet Catra cannot help but notice the energy between the two. She doesn’t know what to do about it – doesn’t know if anything needs to be done – but if Huntara’s involved in this, the chances of Adora being unaware are approximately zero.

As Catra watches, the smallest of the trio is browbeaten into becoming the bearer of bad news. His shoulders collapse and he starts to trudge towards another building – presumably to speak with Huntara.

Catra drops off the roof, landing in a shadow behind Kyle. She tails him in without being spotted through several doors and past multiple guards, finally slipping back outside to cling to the stonework and listen in.

“Look, we tried!”

“Dammit, _Kyle_ ,” Huntara booms. “You were supposed to do better than try.”

“She was just so strong, how was I supposed to – “

“Yes, of course Blondie’s strong.” A note of frustration enters Huntara’s voice. “But she’s already faced most of the team. She should have been exhausted. And, there were three of you.”

Ah, yes, Blondie – Adora’s definitely involved. Catra digs her claws in further and shifts until the room comes into the view. Kyle looks haggard, but Huntara is standing tall in just a breastband and her usual pair of torn-up shorts.

“I – we couldn’t even get halfway into her room!” Kyle splutters. “Nobody could!”

“I could. And apparently I’m going to have to.” She starts to calmly apply warpaint to her face, glaring resolutely at Kyle.

Catra wonders if there’s a reason her head guard is half-naked and planning on getting into her wife’s bedroom – but then Kyle departs, suitably chastised, and Catra gets a chance to ask her herself. She slips a claw under the window sash, silently lifts it, and slips in.

“Huntara. I think I’d like a word.”

* * *

Adora’s had a _great_ day. She’s resting in her bedroom, guarding the flag and planning out her next attack on the map – her team has captured the flag twice already, and if they manage to get it once more before tomorrow evening, her superiority over Huntara will be undisputable.

Her mood is shattered by a low, raspy voice cutting through the night air.

“Hey, Adora.”

Oh, _shit_. Catra’s back. Catra wasn’t supposed to be back for three more days. Catra wasn’t supposed to be back until well _after_ the keep was totally cleaned up. Catra _certainly_ wasn’t supposed to know about _any_ of this.

“Hey, Catra.” Adora says, hesitating as her wife fully unfolds after climbing in through the window. “Fancy, uh, fancy seeing you here.”

“Yup.” Catra answers, while stalking towards her.

“Y - you come here often?”

“I do.” Catra stands in front of her, one claw idly tapping her hip. “Because it’s my keep, Adora.”

“Yup. Yes. Yes it is.” Adora can feel herself sweating under her armor.

“And when I left my keep, it was fine.”

“It was! Absolutely.”

“So why, Adora, is there a _pitched battle_ happening in my courtyard?” Catra asks, with a broad gesture out the window.

“So, about that – “

“And why, Adora, is _Huntara_ running around in nothing but underwear and camo paint - ”

Adora did not know about the underwear; she hasn’t seen hair nor hide of Huntara for almost a day now, but it’s good to know that her opponent is taking a secretive approach. She might need to adjust her –

“- and why does she think she needs to get into our bedroom?” Catra snarls.

Oh, _no_. Adora is beginning to see how this could be misinterpreted. “I can explain – “

“And possibly _most_ important, Adora. Why, when I was very much looking forward to a delightful night with my wonderful wife, whom I love _extremely deeply_ –“

Adora can’t help her quiet “Awww - ”

“ - why was I forced to _sneak into my own bedchamber_ , only to find you dressed in full armor?”

Her coo stops short. “I, uh… I might have…” She considers her situation, then pauses.

“Might have what, Adora.”

Adora opens her mouth, lifts a hand, and then closes it again as Catra walks up to her.

“Might have scheduled a wargame while I was out of town without telling me?”

“Ah. Yes. I might have.” And really, the capture the flag game _was_ important, but now that Catra’s back, Adora finds herself not really caring _quite_ as much.

“Thought so,” Catra smirks.

“So, do… do you want me to… stop?”

“No, Adora.” Catra’s voice is low as she pulls a claw along Adora’s breastplate, peeling off a thin curl of steel. “Of course not.”

“Uhm. Okay. Then what - ”

“Here’s what you’re going to do.” Catra walks away from her, towards the flag hanging off a bedpost. “First, you’re going to take this _ridiculous_ flag out of my room.”

“But - That’s much harder to defend, Catra! I put my flag here for – ” Adora stops as Catra drags a hand down the flag, claws cutting thin slices from it.

“Second, you’re going to win this _tonight_ , Adora, or else you’re not sleeping in this bed any time soon.” Her blue and gold eyes turn on Adora, sharp and flashing.

“ _Tonight_ – ”

“Yes, tonight. Consider it an order from your Queen.”

“ - tonight is going to be – “

Catra’s voice drops to a sultry growl. “And, a request from your wife.”

“I…” Ignoring the Queen is one thing. Turning down Catra when she asks like _that?_ That is an entirely different thing. “Okay, then. Will do.”

“And finally, Adora, once you win – and you will win – you’re going to make _all_ of this up to me.” Catra sits on the bed, still glaring up at her, with a heat Adora instinctually categorizes as low rage.

“Ah, yup. Making. It. Up. Is there a – “

“It’ll take hours.”

“…hours?” Adora asks. Maybe she’s missing something.

“Maybe even days, Adora. Clear your calendar.”

“Oh.” There’s a momentary pause before Catra’s glare goes from cool to hot. Adora’s definitely missing something; her infiltration plans are thrown out of her mind as she abruptly tries to figure out what she can do for Catra. What Catra expects days of.

“Now. I’m going to go to bed.” Catra cracks into a yawn, then glances back and says sharply, “And you - ”

“I’m going to – ”

“ – you’re going to go clean up your fucking shit, Adora.” Catra punctuates this statement by stripping off her shirt. “Now.”

Adora’s mouth is dry, and she has to swallow twice before she manages to croak, “Yup. I will, uh, do that.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Adora gathers up her flag and steps outside. She… she might have fucked up. Catra’s pissed. Not pissed enough to cut her off totally, which is good, but definitely still furious. Adora can read between the lines – Catra knows how easy winning will be, and she wants more from Adora, or else. She even outright asked Adora to do something to make it up.

Well, if she needs to do something extremely special, she might have one option. Adora’s been slowly working up to this surprise over the span of months, and while she has a bit of practice, she’s not totally confident in it - but this situation is bad enough that she resolves to try. Worst comes to worst, she has her cards. She can do this.

* * *

By her math, Adora’s only got three more groups of guards, plus Huntara, between her and flag.

Normally, that would be child’s play for her, even accounting for how all of her teammates are out. But, she also has to “proof” her bread (she’s not clear on why dough has to just sit there and _grow_ , but the recipe says it does, so she’ll let it be lazy), bake it, and let it cool, because apparently bread isn’t as good when it’s sliced hot. And mix the coating for the French toast, plus make all the sides. She rechecks her recipe cards, looks at the map, and reviews her daily planner – she _should_ have enough time before Catra’s dawn deadline. If everything goes to plan.

It does not go to plan. She makes the dough, but breaks too many yolks in the process, leaving her short on eggs for the coating. So Adora pulls the map back out and plans a brief diversion to the chicken coop once the dough is resting, which promptly transforms into a harrowing twenty minute excursion that utterly ruins any attempt at stealth. Then, before she can finish cleaning scratches and brushing off feathers, one of Huntara’s squads tracks down the source of the squawks and finds her, so she’s forced to beat them while balancing a basket of eggs.

By the time _that’s_ done and she returns to the kitchen, her dough has heinously swollen to nearly triple the size. It’s clearly sat too long – she must have lost track of time, or maybe it was wrong to begin with. Adora checks the recipe, but it doesn’t have any way to fix bread that’s been over-proofed, so she angrily tosses the dough aside – she has to make this meal _perfect_ – and hurriedly starts flipping through her cards for something else.

She settles on biscuits and gravy, and immediately starts on browning the sausage and making the dough. Both of those steps go off without interruption, so Adora puts the dough (dough that somehow did _not_ have to rest, she can’t help but note) into the oven and starts what the recipe card calls a “roux” - just as another group of Huntara’s guards stumble onto the flag. It’s a quick battle, but sadly she finds herself unable to best three guards _and_ prevent her meal from burning. She chucks the remnants to the keep’s cat, screams into the predawn twilight for a minute, and then returns to her recipes.

This time, Adora’s learned her lesson. She sorts through the cards and settles on an omelet – quick, easy to make, and best of all, she gets to have sharp things in her hands during almost all of it. She can sweat and brown the vegetables and the meats, steal Huntara’s flag, then mix it all in a pan with some eggs and have breakfast to Catra with time to spare. After a few practice swings with the knife and spatula to assess her ability to defend her flag while cooking, she chops and dices, pan-fries the fillings until even she can smell how good they are, and dumps it all in a bowl to await her triumphant return.

She’s halfway across the courtyard, with the last group of guards down and only Huntara to go, when the kitchen emits a horrendous clatter and a loud _mrow_. Adora looks towards where the flag is, then back to her sole chance at marital salvation, and sprints into the kitchen.

The bowl of delightfully seared meat has been toppled into a pile on the floor, and a smattering of sautéed vegetables adorn it. The keep’s cat is proudly spreading portions of their triumphant hunt all over the kitchen, along with a large number of Adora’s carefully hoarded eggs.

Adora takes a moment, just a moment, to contemplate the possibility of failure. She wasn’t married to Catra at one point, she can take not being married to Catra again. Though… even when she wasn’t married to Catra, she was still _planning_ on getting married to Catra. And that option goes out the window if she fails to make it up to Catra _somehow_.

Shit.

Adora checks outside. The sky is steadily sliding from purple to blue, reds and oranges making themselves known. She looks at the incredibly messy kitchen, her meager supply of remaining eggs, and the skittering cat playing with the scattered remains of her earlier attempts, then pulls out her cards.

It has to be fried eggs and coffee, apparently. That’s all the cards say she has time and ingredients for, and only if she can beat Huntara quickly. Her carefully planned breakfast in bed has been reduced to fried eggs and coffee. She could _weep_.

Instead, she devotes herself to recovering this stupid idiotic flag as quickly as possible. She kicks down Huntara’s door while hefting her blunted and inked sword one-handed, already screaming, only to find Huntara relaxing - her feet on her desk, her arms crossed above her head, her flag nowhere in sight.

Adora’s always been impressed by Huntara’s musculature, height, and general Huntara-ness, and probably always will be, but she takes little notice of those features now. Not with Catra on the line.

“Huntara! Where the fuck is the flag?!”

“Hidden.”

“ _Hidden?!”_

“Yup. Queen Catra stopped by. Told me to cut this shit out, said she’s tired of her keep being a warzone.” Huntara reaches down and lifts up a sword. “It’s unfortunate - I’ve been enjoying this. So I figured I’d hide it, give us both a chance to really get it all out before we can’t.”

Adora can feel her blood pressure rising with the sun. Huntara wants a fight, she’ll get a fight. She hefts her sword, prepares to – _she_ _does not have time for this._ Every second Adora spends righteously pounding Huntara through the fucking floorboards is a second she can’t spend on Catra.

“Fine! You want to do this again? Just give me the flag!”

“That would mean I don’t fight you at all. Did you not hear what I _just said_ , Blondie?”

“I did, and I want to, but I – look.” Adora lowers her sword. “If you give it to me now, I promise we’ll have more of these.”

“Can you really promise that? Your wife’s not happy with you, in case you didn’t notice.”

She’s not wrong, but Adora needs that flag and she needs it _now._ “I’ve got a plan, Huntara, I can make it up to her, but I need time. Tonight. So give me the flag, and then we’ll do this again sometime soon.”

Huntara looks at her for a second, then kicks her feet off the desk. She grabs a key from her pocket and unlocks a drawer, pulling out the rolled up flag before holding it out to Adora.

Adora gets a hand on it, fumbles for a second, then looks at Huntara. “I – thanks?” She turns to leave.

“Anytime, Blondie,” Huntara calls. “I’ve got nothing to prove. We both know you’re not winning the next round of this.”

Adora whirls back to challenge her, make her eat her words – but she catches sight of the warming sky through Huntara’s window. “…Maybe. We’ll see.”

She tucks the flag into her belt, then runs back to the kitchen.

There’s barely time for Adora to clean up her previous messes and shed her armor before making the eggs, and the coffee’s a little lighter on milk than Catra normally likes, but she manages it. The cat, previously slumbering off their multiple breakfasts, rouses, yawns, and pads alongside Adora as she ascends to her room.

It’s a bit awkward to unlatch the door with a plate of eggs in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other, and a cat determinedly winding their way between her legs, but Adora manages it with grace and aplomb and only a few muttered curses. She opens it fully to reveal a gloriously rumpled Catra, nightgown sliding off one shoulder as she raises her head to dazedly assess the dawn.

“Morning, Adora,” she rasps out before cracking into a wide fang-framed yawn.

“Good morning, Catra!”

Catra stares at her, blinks, and then sniffs. “Is that…?”

“I figured I could make it up to you!” Adora cheeps, slightly too tightly, and lifts the plate and mug.

Catra’s brow furrows briefly, then she sighs and puts her palm to her face. Adora’s face falls, but after a moment, Catra reaches out and makes grabby hands. Adora approaches cautiously, passes her both the mug and the plate.

Catra frowns at both parts of her carefully made breakfast and promptly puts them on the bedside table, before contining to make grabby hands at – Adora looks at her, glances down at the cat, and then back to Catra, confusion evident.

“Get in bed, dummy.”

“Are you – ”

“No talking. In bed. Cuddles.”

Adora stops talking, gets in bed, and cuddles her wife.

There’s some readjusting, but eventually Catra ends up in her lap, eyes heavy-lidded, sipping on coffee and occasionally taking bites of egg. After a few moments of calm, she breaks the silence, voice scratchy from a night of heavy sleep.

“Fucking. Idiot.”

Adora’s lip quavers for a second before she breaks into a mournful wail. “I'm _sorry_! The cat broke all the other eggs and I kept burning the roux and the recipes had times but those were _lies_ and - ”

Catra takes a deep breath, so Adora strangles her cry into a squeak.

Her wife sets the remainder of the eggs and the half empty mug on the bedside table, then turns around and puts a hand on either side of Adora’s face.

“Not _fucking idiot_ , Adora. I meant, you would make it up to me.” Catra leans in, blue and gold eyes filling Adora’s vision. “With fucking. You idiot.” She kisses Adora.

Adora tenses against her wife, then relaxes as Catra continues to slowly enjoy herself. There’s a brief moment of contented quiet, suddenly broken by the scrabbling sound of the cat’s poorly aimed leap terminating halfway up the bedside table.

Catra pulls back and rises, giggling as she shoos the cat out of the room before it can steal her breakfast. She snags the plate and mug, then returns to Adora’s lap. “Not that I mind this, of course. But it really is way more than you needed.”

Adora leans back against the headboard, weariness catching up with her. “You were _terrifying!_ ”

Catra swallows her laugh, leaning into her. “No, Adora, I was just tired and hungry and pissy from travel. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fair, and I’m sorry.” Adora takes her comforting weight and slides an arm around her waist. “I probably shouldn’t have, uh…”

“Started a keep-wide game of capture the flag with Huntara without telling the Queen?” Catra asks, shifting again to return the empty plate and mug to the bedside table.

“Yeah, that,” Adora says sheepishly.

“Maybe. But it seemed like it’d be fun to watch.” Catra wriggles her shoulders and Adora takes the cue. She starts to run a hand along Catra’s back and neck, warming up the skin and slowly working deeper into the tight muscles there.

“Well, Huntara told me she liked it. And I promised her I would make it happen again.” Adora says, drifting into the sensation of attending to Catra.

“You – you _what?_ ”

Adora snaps back into reality at Catra’s tone. “I… She hid the flag. I thought I had to win with enough time to do this.” She gestures to the dishes. “So I traded her for the flag because I had to make this and I – ”

“Whoa, slow down.” Catra raises a warding hand. “Why did you think you _had_ to do this?”

“You told me I needed to win!” Adora’s breathing a bit fast just remembering it. “Or else you were done! And then - ”

“When did I say I would be _done?!_ ”

“Well, that we weren’t going to sleep in the same bed for a while. Which I might have, uh, overreacted to.” Adora’s trying to focus on Catra, but her wife keeps sliding into blurriness.

There’s a brief shuffle, and suddenly Adora find herself in Catra’s lap, with her wife’s hands in her hair. She grumbles – she’s supposed to be making things up to _Catra_ , not the other way around –

“Nope, no complaining, Adora,” Catra says. “As the well-rested one, I’m making a decision.” Adora continues to try and object, but is effectively silenced by Catra dropping another kiss on her lips.

“Now. I will admit, in this Sparkles-free zone, that I can sometimes be slightly moody.” Catra shoots her a firm look. “But at no point, Adora, ever, no matter how bad I get, will I be _done_ with you.”

“Even – ”

“Yes, even when you decide my keep should be a warzone. And yes, since you promised Huntara, we can have another one of these.” She pauses a moment, then adds, “As long as I can watch. And heckle you during it.”

“Okay. I’m sorry for freaking out.” Adora can feel herself calming down as Catra keeps working her hands through her hair.

Catra utters a short barking laugh. “Adora! You don’t need to apologize to me. We both had rough weeks. It happens.”

“You had a rough week?”

“Of course. Why do you think I came back early?” Catra asks. “And don’t pretend you didn’t. Huntara told me she planned the whole game because you were just _insufferable_ while I was gone.”

“I… might have been.”

“Thought so. I’m not leaving you behind again, then,” Catra declares. “Solely for your own good, of course.”

“You sure? I wouldn’t be too much of a bother?”

Catra snickers, for a reason beyond Adora’s rapidly fuzzing brain. “Adora, don’t tell me what would bother me.”

She’s too tired to compose a suitable rebuttal, but she can still feel Catra leaning them both back and grabbing the covers. She drags them up, then settles Adora into the crook of her arm.

“Don’t worry, we can talk more when you wake up.” She plants a kiss just behind Adora’s ear. “And while _you_ start making it up, I’ll remind you that I am _never_ done. Not with you.” 

Adora rouses enough to sleepily respond, “I promise I will. Love you, Catra.”

“Love you too, Adora.”

**Author's Note:**

> Adora asked around to create her recipe cards. They are of varying quality. None of them have explained why proofing is required.


End file.
